


Hurt

by sg_fic



Category: Someone Like You (2001), The D Train (2015)
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 14:11:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4963723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sg_fic/pseuds/sg_fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of his visit to Pittsburgh, Oliver Lawless returns to L.A. lonely, depressed and broke—but he soon learns that these are the least of his problems. The D Train/ Someone Like You cross-over, inspired by and based on movie-verse Scott/Logan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hurt

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [[授权翻译] 痛 / Hurt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8207990) by [swflora_sw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swflora_sw/pseuds/swflora_sw)



> A big thank you goes to my beloved scottxlogan for pointing me in all the right directions (except for the non-con, that’s all my fault ;P), and my eternal love goes, as always, to bostongirl2003 for her beta magic and general awesomeness <3
> 
> Much like The D Train movie, this fic turned out darker than I expected. Please read the warnings.

 

It was true what they said… the cliché about seeing double when drunk. He never thought about it until that very moment, when he tried to focus on the light bulb in his apartment, but his lazy eyes kept on drifting, drifting…

The cigarette smoke burnt his lungs and Johnny Cash’s voice burnt his soul.

 _“—And you could have it all, my empire of dirt. I will let you down, I will make you hurt.”_ No one could blame Oliver Lawless for having a bad singing voice. His sole redeeming feature, perhaps.

Maybe he got it all wrong. Maybe he should have tried his luck as a singer. _Then the drugs and misery would have gone without saying._ He snorted, then clumsily rolled off the sofa to take a leak.

He stumbled along the living room of his tiny apartment and stopped by the mirror.

_Ugly._

Greasy, messy hair with pathetic, sad red eyes. A pair of worn out Walmart black boxer because that’s all he could afford after ten years as an ‘actor’.

Too fucking short and too fucking skinny in a city full of Angles.

He used to rely on his good looks when he first moved to L.A, but lately he felt that even his looks were failing him—his self-hatred had managed to consume even that.

_Fuck this._

He entered the bathroom and slammed the door shut, but it provocatively sprung back until it was wide open. Piece of shit.

He closed his eyes as he peed and his body swayed drunkenly.  

 _‘I wear this crown of thorns upon my_ _liar’s chair, full of broken thoughts I cannot_ _repair,’_ Johnny’s voice taunted him from the living room, and before Oliver knew it he was sinking to the floor of his bathroom, sobbing like a child.

The strip club looked like joint straight out of the Sopranos, Italian mafia included, and Oliver was ignoring the voice in his head begging him to turn around and give his acting career one last chance—with a YouTube video titled **_Z-Movie Actor confronts his Gay Lover at High school Reunion_** having more views than anything else he’d even done, he was pretty damn sure his acting career was over and done with.  

“Hey. I’m looking for Anita?”

“Yeah? And who the fuck are you?”

“I’m Oliver… _Oliver Turner_ … It’s um… a job interview.” The last part was just barely a whisper, but nervous and disappointed in himself as he was, Oliver wasn’t all that surprised. He always suspected that working at a WeHo nightclub would be the end of his glorified Californian adventure.

“Oh, yeah?” The man laughed, “Okay, hot stuff! In there,” He gestured towards one of the private booths.

Having never been to a strip club during the daytime, Oliver scanned the room as he crossed it and couldn’t help his unease when he saw the type of men who were occupying the place. Not that he could allow being picky right then… Scooping the heavy velvet curtains, he entered the private booth.

Impossibly hung over, he was still donning his Ray Bans, and the wall-to-wall mirror greeted him with his version of a poor man’s Charlie Cox, reminding him of yet another failed audition. Miserable, he gritted his teeth. This wasn’t the time for self-pity! If he doesn’t get this job—he’d have to leave! Flipping burgers at Wendy’s did not cover a typical L.A rent—not even for the matchbox he called home.

He removed his glasses, sat down and rubbed his face tiredly. He was mentally tired; his trip to Pennsylvania had drained the last of his powers. He was hoping to come back motivated, that maybe being admired by the entire class of 94’ would boost his confidence and remind him of the reason he moved to L.A. to begin with. Instead, he found himself harassed by a middle-aged closeted father of two, until he lost it and lashed out in front of his entire year.

He sighed and looked around, his eyes finally adjusting to the dim light.

The booth was empty and quiet, his velvety, deep purple sofas wide enough to serve as part time beds. A small disco ball was spinning lazily and the crimson walls were spangled with dots of light. In the center of the booth a stripping pole stood shiny, erect, and too close to the sofas for his liking; the strippers couldn’t possibly use it without it becoming a lap-dance. It made him wonder what else took place in here.

…Did he really want to work in a place like this?

And yet, the room was extremely clean, and the velvet couches were soft and luxurious. He figured that this was the VIP booth, and his stomach gave a hungry growl when he tried to imagine the amounts of money that were spent here nightly. With the Banana Boat money mostly spent on coke and rent, Oliver was getting to a point where he could barely afford to eat—and the rent was due in two weeks. He had to score a job with this Anita chick—he simply had to!

…But where was she?

He strained his ears but the booth was impossibly quiet, the thick velvet curtains blotting out the sounds coming from the club.

Was he waiting in the right place?

Eventually, even the disco ball had stopped his lazy spin—indicating that Oliver had waited longer than anyone in his right mind would have.

He rose to his feet and made his way back to the club, but just as he reached for the curtains they were suddenly pulled apart and the sound of laughing men broke the silence.

“Sorry!” He moved out of the way of a party of five middle-aged men who looked so filthy rich that fierce, ugly envy began gnawing at Oliver’s heart.

They were taking their seats, completely indifferent to his presence and Oliver attempted to escape the booth once more when the last member of the group turned up and blocked his way.

“Sorr—” Oliver began, his eyes darting up, then froze.

Eddie Alden.

The Eddie Alden!

The guy was on Hollywood Reporter’s _50 Most Powerful People_ _in Media_ for several years in a row now! If Oliver could get an audition with the guy then his acting career might actually—

“Mr. Turner?” Someone asked, derailing his train of thought, “Mr. Turner? …Oliver Turner?”

“—um, yeah?” Only then did he notice the short blonde standing by Alden. She did not look happy, but she sure looked important; everything about her was screaming nouveau riche—from her massive diamond rings to her impossibly long, fake nails.

“I’m Anita. We spoke on the phone…?” she tried, her green eyes raking his body impatiently.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

“Oh, yeah, about the bartending job! Um, I’ll just… I’ll wait for you outside and—”

“The _bartending_ job?” She snorted, “I told you we’re only hiring strippers at the moment… and here you are, so do you want the job or what?”  

Hysteria was clamping Oliver’s throat; all he could see was the corners of Eddie Alden’s mouth twitching as a slow, wide grin was beginning to spread across his face. So much for impressing one of the biggest producers in Hollywood…

“Madre mia!” Anita exhaled and opened the curtain wide for him, “Okay, leave.”

His stomach gave another hungry growl, and at the much needed wake-up call he quickly said;

“No-no! I want the job!”

“You sure?” she made a face at him then checked her tiny, expensive watch.

“Give him a chance Ann, I have a good feeling about this.” Eddie Alden was still smiling, tall and handsome and rich as hell. He looked at Oliver with all the mischief of a man wanting to be entertained.

“Anything you say, gorgeous.” Her wide smile didn’t reach her eyes as she closed the curtains and reached behind the nearest sofa. There was a soft _-click-_ and ambient music began playing in the background.

The disco ball resumed its slow spin.

“Okay Turner, do your thing.”

“My… thing.” He was stalling, his mind still reeling; _this was an audition?!_

A producer that he was dying to impress was actually going to watch him audition… as a stripper.

 _But of course!_ He almost laughed.

He couldn’t think of a more fitting end to his acting ‘career’ – than failing in a one last audition. And why not make it his most humiliating audition yet, in front of the most important industry man yet?

But his humor was short lived; where would he live? What will he eat?

His panic must have showed; Anita was rolling her eyes at him. Some of the men began giggling.

“Oliver,” Someone softly said, and the young man’s blue eyes darted up.

“It is Oliver, isn’t it?” Eddie asked, amused, and Oliver nodded.

“Start with your clothes.”

“…huh?”

They were laughing at him, but Eddie signaled them to stop, his hazel eyes locked with Oliver’s blue ones.

“Take them off. That’s how it’s traditionally done.” And he was smiling again. It wasn’t a mocking smile; the man looked genuinely amused.

“…’kay.” And Oliver shrugged off his shirt, glad that he’d been working out for that stupid banana spot.

“Nice… Jeans too.” Eddie guided, seeing the question marks in his baby blues.

“…In front of them?”  Oliver needed to make sure.

“Is that a problem?” Anita jumped in.

“No. I just thought I’d be entertaining ladies.” Oliver tried sounding indifferent.

He did not expect Anita’s roaring laughter, “In West Hollywood?! Really?!” She barely composed herself long enough to ask, “Let me guess, you’re new in town?”

“Ten years,” Oliver turned his attention to the fly of his jeans, hoping she’d shut up. Heat was beginning to spread up his neck.

Standing there in nothing but his tight, black boxer shorts, he realized that he had no idea what’s next.

“Well?” Anita gestured at the pole.

“I… I can’t pole dance.” Oliver admitted, his face and ears burning up.

_Idiot!_

This was a new low point, reunion outburst included, and his eyes began raking the room hysterically in search for his clothes.

“So what have you been doing in the past ten years, then?” Eddie drew his attention once more. He was sitting back with his arms crossed and his hazel eyes ever so serene, and his interest in Oliver felt like a life line in the otherwise hostile booth.

“I’m an actor… I mean I’ve been doing commercials… national spots… the Banana Boat Triple Defense Sunscreen for Men campaign?”

“Never heard of it.” The man simply said, and Oliver’s eyes drifted to his pile of clothes on their own accord.   

“Come here,”

Eddie Alden made a quick gesture with his hand, a rich man’s gesture that meant _now_.

“Closer, you don’t need the pole, just come here… Even closer, darling, I won’t bite. Now, spread your legs… wider. Don’t be shy… that’s it. Come here—sit down.” And the man’s big, hot palms closed on Oliver’s slim waist and guided him down until he was straddling Eddie and sitting in his lap. The man’s suit felt soft and expensive against his bare skin. Up close his cologne smelled lemony and clean.

“Now move. Just grind against me.”

Oliver began moving his pelvis, trying to find the right rhythm,

“—No.” The man used his hold on his waist to halt him, “Ignore the music. Just _feel_. Do whatever feels good. If you get turned on, your client will get turned on. You can’t fake these things.”

“’kay…” Oliver swallowed, not sure what could possibly feel good in the midst of that nightmarish scenario, but he tried.

Heeding the advice he was given, he let his eyelids drop until his vision got blurry and just felt. At the same time the man guided Oliver’s hands to his build shoulders, and able to support his weight better, Oliver could move more freely. Eddie was warm. Well built. He radiated wealth and self-confident, and that in itself was sexy enough to make a dull throb begin in his lower abs… at the base of his cock…

“That’s it…” the man’s hands were racking his back… his ribs… his abs… they were big and hot and _everywhere_ and yeah, Oliver was getting harder by the minute.

His hands left the man’s shoulders on their own accord, and wrapped themselves around his neck instead. He was rubbing his hard cock higher and higher up the man’s thighs, satisfied to hear Eddie’s breath hitching in his throat.     

That was when the big, hot hands closed on his waist once more.

Eddie slammed Oliver’s groin against his own erection, and even through his pants there was no mistaking the massive hard-on he was sporting.

It was Oliver who couldn’t suppress a soft moan of pleasure, then.

“You an actor, darling?”

“Yeah,” Oliver panted, insanely close to coming—he’d never been with a man like Eddie; he never thought he’d stand a chance to be.

“I’m casting for a soap, the network wants new faces. How about you come by tomorrow at seven for a private audition?”

“What does it mean?” Oliver couldn’t think straight with the man’s massive cock pressing hard against his, and with the massive hands that somehow gotten into his briefs and were cupping and squeezing his round, pale buttocks.

The man moved in until his lips were tickling Oliver’s ear. His hot breath made shivers run down the younger man’s spine; “It means I get to fuck you, and you get the part.”

 _Ah!—_ his cock twitched painfully, the tip already wet with pre-cum, “I don’t bottom.”

“You’re gonna.” The man simply said and tugged at Oliver’s waistband, then tucked a small business card into his briefs, the cardboard sharp against the sensitive skin of his hard cock.

He made another hand gesture that meant _off_ , and before he knew it Oliver responded to the man’s authority and got off of him. He sat on the velvet couch, looking up at the man who was getting ready to leave.

“Always a pleasure Ann! I believe you found yourself a keeper. Fellas?”

His entourage got up and made their way out of the booth. Eddie was the last to leave, and he didn’t bother giving Oliver a second glance as he did.

Men like him didn’t have to; they knew they’d get exactly what they wanted.

He took a long drag off his cigarette and exhaled slowly, feeling the tension beginning to leave his body.

Opening his half closed eyes, Oliver reached across the couch to grab his laptop, then crossed his legs over the coffee table and carefully balanced his MacBook on his thighs.

With one hand pressed against his lips he drew on his cigarette, and with the other he clumsily typed E-d-d-i- but that was as far as he got when his laptop beeped.

It was a new Skype message from _D_Lands._

 _…what the hell?_ He didn’t even remember that he had a Skype account, he didn’t need one… He never used it except for when he—

_Aww, shit!_

He was NOT going there.

Ignoring the notification he typed –e, –A, and google was already suggesting search results such as _Eddie Alden red carpet_ , and _Eddie Alden single_. Licking his dry lips Oliver distractedly placed the lit cigarette in the ashtray and hit _images_.

Holy fuck, the guy was built like a Greek god—

Skype beeped again and Oliver exhaled loudly, annoyed. He clicked the small notification at the bottom of the screen and his jaw dropped. He reached for his cigarette and took the longest drag yet, but it did nothing to calm his shaky nerves now.

Three days’ worth of messages filled the screen. He scrolled down… then further down… then further down…

 _“Oh my God.”_ He told the empty room, his head spinning.

Two weeks’ worth of messages. Dan started writing him as soon as he closed the reunion Facebook group, it seemed.

More than a little nervous, he began reading.

 **_Friday, May 8, 2015, 1:54 AM_ ** _Hey Oliver! I hope it’s okay that I’m hitting you this late, bro (but by L.A standards I bet 2 A.M. is midday! ;)) I just wanted to say that I really appreciate you stopping by today. I know I didn’t deserve any explanations after the way I behaved, and I know that you’re a busy guy, but you took the time to see me and I appreciate that, I do! I needed a closure, and let me tell you—it worked! I’m so over whatever the hell it was! Bye-bye crazy Dan, hello old self! ;) Oh, man… I just want to apologize for acting so weird while you were here. You were our guest and my behavior was inappropriate and uncalled for—my sincere apology, I feel terrible about everything. So yeah, this is me writing you one last time to say sorry and thank you. Hope you’re having a good one wherever you are, hopefully banging some hot chick while fingering another! ;)_

_Whatever you do man, best of luck._

_D Gold. (Because I tried googling D Train, and all you get is porn!)_

**_Saturday, May 9, 2015, 8:03 PM_ ** _Hey man. I know I said it was my last time hitting you, but I wrote you to say how sorry I am—and nothing. It would have been nice to hear you say that we’re good. See, if I tell you that I feel terrible, and then you just ignore me—that kind of ruins the whole point of having a closure in the first place! But whatever man. Maybe seeing your real face was all the closure I needed. Dan._

 **_Sunday, May 10, 2015, 5:17 PM_ ** _Okay, before I start, I’m just… I’m sorry man. I had no right to say any of those things and I’m just so sorry. I feel terrible like you wouldn’t believe. So please forget I wrote any of that crap! It wasn’t me! Like seriously, I went out with the guys, had a few beers, got a little touchy feely… anyway, it won’t happen again man. Hope you’re doing well._

 _D Money. (Because D. Gold sounds like an old man who’d tell you to turn your head and cough, am I right? :))_

**_Tuesday, May 12, 2015, 3:45 AM_ ** _So you ignored me again. I get it. I get what you’re saying by saying nothing at all. What I don’t get is why are you going out of your way to make me your enemy?!_

And Oliver slammed the laptop shut, having read enough.

“Manhattan Avenue please.”

“—zip code?”

“90266.”

The driver nodded as he fed the information into his smartphone and Oliver leaned against his door and waited.

He hadn’t been this nervous since he first moved to L.A.

Tonight determined whether he would get his lucky break as an actor or start dancing on tables for a living.

Funny, ten years and he’d never been to Manhattan Beach. He realized that he was gawking and must have looked like an idiot, but these houses… holy shit. Somebody out there had money…

He tried ignoring the nasty voice in his head telling him that he was a failure, and had had no business being in a nice place like this. It was the same voice that kept him up and made him, against his better judgment, come see Dan in his hotel room that night. That voice was up to no good.  

Even now it was telling him that he was a worthless, talentless little shit, and that all he really had to offer the world was a piece of ass. That no wonder his lucky break awaited him at some producer’s bed.

 _He’s not really going to fuck me!_ He protested _._

_Oh, yeah? Is that why you spent over half an hour showering? It that why you’re wearing your best clothes and a new pair of boxers?_

**_Stop it stop it stop it!_ ** _Get your act together Lawless, or you will screw this up!_

“Number seven, yes?”

“Um, yeah, you can drop me off here. Thanks man.”

Was this place for real? The guard at the gate let him in, and Oliver was walking towards the entrance door, memorized.

A loud buzz was heard before he could ring the bell and he pushed the door open only to find himself all alone in the foyer.

Large, clear windows were shielding the wooden, well lit room, and the soft, red carpet felt almost too nice to step on. The design was so warm and welcoming, that fascinated, Oliver almost forgot why he came there.  

Then his heart leaped at the sound of Alden’s voice and he turned;

Eddie had company. Two men who were laughing and smoking indoors.

“Oh… I’m… I’m sorry, I thought that you said seven? I can come back later!”

“Who’s he?”

“This is Mr. Turner, he’s here to audition.” And something about the way he said _Turner_ made Oliver realize that the man saw right through his act. That he better not lie to this guy again.

“Nice,” the man on Eddie’s right smiled suggestively. They both seemed to strip him with their eyes and Oliver had to wonder if ‘here to audition’ was a code name to ‘we’re going to screw’ in Eddie’s world. It sure looked like it, and Oliver was fighting the urge to turn his back on all three and run…

…then he remembered that he literally had enough money for his cab ride back home, then he was truly and utterly broke.   

“Hey,” he forced himself to greet the strangers who were just informed that he’s a slut. They gave him patronizing little nods in return.

The man who asked about him was still undressing him with his eyes and Oliver had to look away, but it only made him say, “Hey, I’m Will.”

The man extended his hand and reluctant, Oliver took it. The handshake was too long and too slow and he had to do all within his power not to show that he was appalled, when Eddie finally said; “The guys were just leaving,”

“Yeah. Okay… so have fun!” Will let go of his hand at long last and laughed, but there was no joy in his eyes and Oliver was only too happy to see him leave; he’d never seen such an obvious douchebag in his life! All the guy missed was a hoodie under his blazer and a sad girlfriend by his side.

The door closed behind them and he turned to face Eddie.

“Yeah, I know.” The man simply said, “But that’s business, what can you do?”

“…so I’m not really here to audition?” Oliver tried joking, but nervousness creeped into his voice.

“Of course not. Why? Did you prepare a scene?”

“I’m…” sudden, fierce blush colored the high cheekbones.

“Aww, that’s sweet. Come here,” and Eddie pulled him into a loose embrace, the gesture strangely intimate, like they’ve been lovers for years, and it hurt for reasons Oliver couldn’t explain. He reacted before he knew it; his hands slipping into Eddie’s blazer and circling his waist.

“That’s very sweet, but that’s not why you’re here,” Eddie gently took hold of his chin, his lemony aftershave making him heady, “Okay?”

He was waiting for him to affirm and Oliver nodded, not entirely sure what was he agreeing to.

“Okay,” Eddie confirmed, and moved in for a kiss.

 _“Mm!”_ startled by the man’s directness, Oliver was blinking in shock even while parting his lips to allow him deeper.

 _“…mm! …mm…”_ he forced himself to close his eyes and try to relax into the kiss, suck on Eddie’s tongue as suggestively as he possibly could.

But it didn’t work, he was too nervous and eventually he had to tear his mouth away, “I don’t bottom!” he said between ragged pants, “I’m sorry… I thought that… that I was really here for… you know…”

“No, I don’t know.” Eddie wasn’t breathless at all. Not a hair out of place. “Why won’t you bottom?”

“…hurts.” Oliver admitted quietly.

Then Eddie laughed, a quiet, sexy little laughter. “Well clearly you’ve been doing it wrong. Tell you what,” and he pulled Oliver into his arms once more, making the younger man lean into the embrace so willingly that he almost felt sorry for him, “I’m going to top, and it’s going to feel so good that you will be begging to come on my dick. …Yeah?” He raised Oliver’s chin again until he met the blue, stormy eyes, “You gonna let me do that?”

Oliver nodded and Eddie sealed the deal was another deep kiss. He ran his hands down Oliver’s shoulders… chest… firm abs… then he felt the guy’s stomach growl.

“You’re hungry?” he tore his mouth away.

“I, um, just had a long day you know? Didn’t really have the time, and—”

“Okay,” Eddie cut him short; the beautiful man was a terrible liar. Strangely, a lot of actors were. _Leave it to the producers, then._ He smiled.

“Let’s get you something to eat.”

It never occurred to him that his house only had ridiculously large dining tables in it. With Oliver being his only guest, they ended up in the TV room, Oliver eagerly eating the club sandwich the maid prepared for him, while Eddie was borrowing some of his chips, unable to resist the smell.

The game was on and they were both eating and watching.

“YES!”

_“Yes?! Really?!”_

“Let me guess; Yankees fan?”

“Third generation.”

“You say that like it’s something to be proud of!”

“As opposed to the Lakers’ bringing up the retiring age? My grandfather is thinking of joining in.”

“What can I say? This story rings more true than anyone being a third generation Yankees fan.”

And in spite of himself, Oliver laughed, “You know, I’ve never really been to New York.”

“Really?”

“Well once for a couple of hours, but I was drunk. Does that count?”

“No. You’re a terrible fan.” Eddie said, keeping a straight face, and laughing, Oliver gently elbowed his ribs.

Eddie had one arm casually draped over the sofa, and over the course of the game it ended up around Oliver’s shoulders.

“It’s a terrible city, you know.”

“Why?”

“Just… the vibes there. Making people cold… or making them stupid. I don’t know. That’s where I started off, producing and writing for this idiotic morning show, and I’m glad to be out of there, let me tell you.”

Oliver nodded, and a storm was brewing in his big, blue eyes once more. The guy sure looked like he was going through hell… then suddenly his bright eyes hardened with determination and he leaned into Eddie, resting his auburn head on his shoulder.

 _Don’t do this…_ Eddie sighed.

He’d been in the business long enough to spot a failed actor when he saw one, and yesterday at the strip joint… Oliver was so vulnerable and completely off guard, that Eddie got it all figured out within seconds.

Failed actor, no money, last resort. Probably jumping from one bed to another because he wanted to feel something, _anything_ , but all he felt was emptiness, and, in order to conceal it, he was trying to act real tough—with his stubbles and tattoos and the way he narrowed his blue eyes like he was bored with you and his time was too precious, when in fact his fears and self-hatred were eating him alive.

So of course Eddie was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Not that he could afford to. This desperate… _need_ of his—to fix broken people, this desire to be needed by someone—that’s what got him eating a shit load of crap from both Rebecca and Jane, and he wasn’t going through that _ever_ again.

That’s why he figured that he should just fuck the guy, no small talks, no dates—no nothing. Get Oliver fake-name-Turner out of his system and get on with his life.

Laughing, cuddling, and having dinner in front of the TV was not a part of his plan! Annoyed he reached for the remote,

“Come on. Let's take this party upstairs.”  

“Oh, right.” Oliver straightened up, sadness creeping into his expressive blue eyes.

But he had no right to be sad, Eddie did nothing to mislead him!

“Look, if you want to leave—”

But Oliver silenced him with a kiss that immediately set fire to his blood. He couldn’t remember the last time that he wanted someone so damn much.

They were kissing messily, hands blindly groping for clothes, clumsily pulling and tugging, slowly advancing into the room until the bed made contact with the back of Oliver’s thighs.

Eddie broke the kiss and practically threw Oliver on top of the bed, before kneeling above him to undo his belt and take his jeans and boxers off in one smooth tug.

“Slow down,” Oliver begged, painfully turned on by having someone dominating him for a change, but also wanting it to feel like the man cared. Like they were making love, not just fucking. Something happened to him when Eddie insisted that he’d eat—a giant weight lifted off his chest whenever the older man acted like he cared… guess he was a little touchy feely today.

 _“Ah!”_ Oliver almost came as the man’s mouth closed on his cock without warning; he was not slowing down. He flexed his neck so that he could see... The sight of himself, naked from the waist down, with this gorgeous man’s head between his legs, working on his cock made him come—just like that,

 _“I’m—”_ he tried warning before his mind exploded with pleasure, the intensity of his orgasm clamping his throat even though in his head he was shouting Eddie’s name—

“I’m… sorry… I’m… so sorry…” Oliver panted as soon as he found his voice. He couldn’t imagine the rich, successful man willingly swallowing anyone’s load. He half expected to be kicked out—

—but Eddie was smiling down at him, while unzipping his own jeans. “What for? All part of the plan. Now turn around, on your stomach.”

“I’d rather see your face…” Oliver tried. He desperately needed to feel some connection to the guy.

“Nah, if it hurt in the past I’m gonna need you facing down. Come on, before the afterglow fades.”

Oliver wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but he complied. He took off his shirt, lie down on his stomach and watched Eddie pull lube out of the drawer, feeling an irrational twinge of jealousy seeing how handy Eddie had kept it.

Then Eddie gently spread his buttocks and Oliver understood.

He knew that he was tight, he’d been told as much when he complained about the pain.

Now however, with his body still tingling from the orgasm, Eddie could slide the first finger in without it hurting one bit. It was thickly coated with lube that felt cool and slippery and was somewhat unpleasant now that he was sated, but it was bearable. Eddie pulled out only to apply more lube onto his finger and press back in.

“Easy,” he guided as he started pressing a second finger into him.

It didn’t hurt, but now he could definitely feel the stretch… Eddie pulled out and added more lube. He pressed the two fingers back in and just held still, letting the thick lubricant slowly come off his fingers and into Oliver’s tight ass.

“Now just relax…” and he began moving, in and out, until Oliver relaxed completely. Then, pressing deeper, he began massaging the area where he knew the younger man’s g spot should be…

 _“…Eddie…”_ Oliver started clenching his ass around the invading fingers, harder and faster, until the older man decided that he was ready.

“You hard darling?”

 _“Yeah,”_ Oliver moaned, and smiling, Eddie searched the drawer once more for a condom.  

“Up,” he guided and eased a pillow under Oliver’s abs.

The bed dipped on each side as Eddie straddled his body, and Oliver looked over his shoulder in time to see Eddie fisting the base of his cock and leaning into him. He was searching, the head of his hard prick moving between Oliver’s buttocks until he found what he was looking for and pressed in.

_“—Ah—”_

“Okay?”

_“…Yeah.”_

It was better than okay. No one had ever taken the time to prepare and arouse him this way, and what Eddie did with his fingers made Oliver weak with desire.

_“Aw—ah… E-ddie…”_

“Shh, that’s it darling, just take it...”

Eddie was claiming his body, moving his hips in a slow rhythm, in and out, deeper and deeper, and Oliver was pressing his forehead against the pillow and biting his lips to suppress his heated moans,  

 _“—yeah!”_ he gasped when the head of the man’s cock brushed against that sensitive spot deep inside—he had no idea being taken this way could feel so damn good.

“You like that?” Eddie momentarily stilled his hips to allow Oliver to move against him and experiment with the new found sensation.

_“God, yes… please… …Eddie?”_

“—Mm?” the man arched an eyebrow, amused.  

“Move?” Oliver begged; he painfully needed to come.   

“You sure?”

Frustrated, Oliver rose to all fours and began moving against him, but Eddie caught his slim waist and held him still.

“—please!”

“You want to come on my dick?” The man clarified, and yeah… he made his point.

“Yes! Just _move_ …”

Without releasing his forceful grip on his waist, Eddie started thrusting.

He was right; the position made bottoming easier on Oliver, and his entire body tingled with raw pleasure and need—he was so close…

On all fours, Oliver moved against the older man, meeting his thrusts and biting his lips until it hurt; it was the only thing keeping him from shouting Eddie’s name over and over—no one ever fucked him so good!

“…I’m… coming…” he panted, but Eddie rammed his cock into him with a sudden slam and held him still.

“No, no! Move! Eddie, please move!”

“Shh.” He could _hear_ Eddie smiling. His thick, hard cock twitched deep inside of him and Oliver almost came, but it wasn’t enough and every inch of his skin was burning with need.

He tried moving but Eddie’s grip on his waist was unrelenting,

“Easy, darling. Nice and easy now.”

Oliver hung his head in defeat and waited. When the rhythm was finally renewed, the thrusts were small and measured, just barely teasing the spot that made stars flash behind his closed eyelids.

“…harder,” he begged, but Eddie ignored him. Holding Oliver impossibly still, Eddie pressed hard against his ass, his movements so small and measured that it felt like the man was grinding against him rather than fucking him… but even that built up towards an orgasm eventually; Oliver was that turned on.

 _“No! Move, god damn it!”_ Oliver clenched his ass as hard as he could, trying to get himself off in spite of how the man stopped moving again just as he was about to come.

“Relax.”

“No! Move already!” Oliver was clenching and unclenching, his knuckles white as he fisted the sheets in frustration.  

“Not until you relax for me.”

And understanding the promise in the man’s words, Oliver struggled to relax in spite of his need for friction.  

“That’s more like it,” Eddie send a hand to Oliver’s groin, and held him in a loose, well lubricated fist. At the same time he started moving, _real_ thrusts that drove Oliver wild.

“Yeah!” He began moving as well, meeting each forceful thrust while fucking the hot, slippery passage made by the man’s fist.

 _“Please don’t stop… just keep going…”_ Oliver begged on the edge of climax, _“Harder… faster! Oh god, oh please—”_ The wave of pleasure that started deep up his ass was stronger than anything he’d ever felt, and before he knew it he reached an orgasm with a shout, his voice unrecognizable to his own ears.

 _“AHH-- EDDIE!”_ For an entire, mind blowing minute there was nothing but pure bliss—he had no idea that he could reach orgasms this way; he came so hard that he could barely think, could barely breath…  

“You okay?”

“I’m… wow…”

The man chuckled and waited for him to calm down before he continued to fuck him, faster and harder, until he slammed Oliver against him and came.

Eddie got up and made his way to the bathroom, leaving Oliver all alone in his bedroom, feeling strangely... empty.

It wasn’t physical emptiness, although he suspected that it played a part; the man pulled out as soon as he came and immediately got off of him…

Even with the most obvious, cheap, drunken hookups—Oliver cuddled afterwards, even for a bit…  

Logically, he knew that he made a great deal; he got to have mind blowing sex with a gorgeous guy _and_ won a part in a soap… but practically, he was feeling used and on the verge of tears.

_Stop being such an idiot!_

He got out of bed and searched the room for his shorts. Pulling them up, a book on the nightstand caught his attention;

**_Of Old Cows & New Loves_ **

_Theories about love by Jane and Ray Brown_

“What’s this?” he laughed, trying to pretend he wasn’t feeling so lousy.

 _“Personal.”_ Eddie, who just got back, snapped, and snatched the book out of his hands.

“…okay. Sorry. I… I should probably leave.”

“Okay.” Eddie looked more interested in returning the book to its original place than in anything Oliver had to say, and it felt like a punch to the guts—he expected Eddie would offer to let him spend the night.

He should have left right then, but God, it hurt...

It hurt in ways he didn’t understand, and before he knew it he was moving in for a kiss, desperate for something to hold on to, some kind of reprieve—

Eddie didn’t stop him, but he didn’t kiss back. Oliver’s full lips met Eddie’s thin ones for a brief, passionless moment… and that was it.

“Don’t do this,” Eddie dropped his gaze to the floor seeing the first tear gliding down Oliver’s cheek. He took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “Look. We had fun. You got the part, don’t—”

“Fuck the part!” Oliver turned his back on him and began gathering his clothes as fast as he could, tears running down his cheeks uncontrollably.

“—Hey!”

“And fuck you!” He pulled his jeans up while stepping into his half laced shoes, “The people in New York are cold?! Guess you learned from the best!”

“—Oliver!”

But the bedroom door slammed behind the younger man before he could utter a word, and Eddie sat on the bed and buried his face in his palms.

He missed a last notice from T-Mobile and couldn’t even use his phone to summon a cab. He had to walk until he found one, but the driver refused to take him after seeing his puffy, red eyes—he must have thought that he was high as fuck.

The second driver he signaled shot him a quick glance, then refused meeting his eyes or slowing down— but just then a different cabbie pulled over and cracked the window open;

“You okay, love?” The driver asked him, her big brown eyes warm and savvy.

“Not really,” he confessed and his eyes filled with tears once more, his hatred for L.A. and everyone in it was threatening to consume him alive.

“Well that’s no good. Come in, let’s get you home.”   

Eddie was lying on his back, his vision blurry with tears that refused to spill.

Torn up pages from his ex’s and her husband’s book were scattered all over the bed like confetti.

 _Of old cows and new loves_ , he snorted. More like _of snakes in the grass and the old flames they cheat on their boyfriends with._

Why did it still hurt so damn much?

Was it because Jane knew exactly what he’d been through with Rebecca, but still cheated on him with the biggest, douchiest, loser around?

Was it because she never truly apologized?

Because she married that idiot Ray, but told him she didn’t believe in marriage when he tried to probe at their one year anniversary?

He slowly rose into a sitting position and looked at his upturned bed. What was he doing? When he left New York he promised himself that he was leaving the emotionally wrecked womanizer version of himself back there as well. He managed to so far—no one in L.A. had called him an asshole just yet… well, not on personal grounds anyway, but tonight… he didn’t want to hurt Oliver the way that he did.

In fact, he went out of his way to deliver a mind blowing orgasm, he genuinely wanted to pleasure the gorgeous young actor.

Maybe sleeping with him had been a mistake; he intended to give Oliver the part anyway… He could try to pretend, act tough all he wanted—but he was a showman at heart and couldn’t stand the thought of a young actor giving up and selling his body for rent. Why did he also have to fuck him?

It was the damn striptease! Oliver had him hook, line and sinker after that day.

Not wanting to find himself daydreaming of the guy, or looking for excuses to visit the set just so he can flirt, he figured that the best thing to do was to get the sexual tension out of the way before he even got to know him.

Everything was going according to plan… he had no idea why he turned so cold all of a sudden, or why his affection was so suddenly overcome by anger. He couldn’t think of a reason. The sex was fucking amazing, and Oliver seemed like a genuinely decent guy. Lost and hurting at that, but his heart seemed to be in the right place.

He was reminded of how the blue eyed boy leaned into his touch, his naked hunger for affection painfully obvious, and it made him wonder what kind of hell was going on in Oliver’s life... It also made his anger abide, and shame take its place.

He practically pimped the guy.

 _Oh, shit_ —he didn’t even ask for his real name. He had no way of getting in touch… but he owed Oliver an apology… and a job.

He got out of bed and his feet touched something cold…

Oliver’s tribal-style necklace—it must have came off when he got undressed…

He remembered how it glistened against the younger man’s smooth chest in the strip club, and how the sight turned him on… Then, hazel eyes growing wide, he searched his discarded jeans for his phone and quickly googled _WeHo-tease…_ there— _get in touch._

“Hello? Hi this is Eddie Alden, I need to speak to Anita, please.”

And suddenly he knew exactly why it still hurt so damn much, why he was so damn angry. Because not only did Jane deprived him of love in the past… she made Eddie deprive _himself_ in the present.

…and now he took it out on the guy who steered things up by making him _feel_.

 _“You asshole.”_ Eddie muttered, and it was the first time someone called him that since he moved to L.A.

To his great shame, he cried throughout the ride.

He did his best to hide his face against the window, but from the way the driver turned up the radio and avoided meeting his eyes in the mirror it was clear that his effort was in vain.

Still, he couldn’t stop.

It was just that… well, he felt like such a nobody!  No one knew who he was, no one wanted to work with him, and no one wanted to commit to him! The only people who’d fuck him were gold diggers who’d leave after realizing that he was broke! Then Dan made him feel like a somebody, but he proved to be a lunatic, so his opinion didn’t matter, and Eddie…

 _Eddie…_ he was such an idiot for thinking someone like Eddie might care!

But he finally got to hook up with someone he was _interested_ in, and not just someone he was settling for, so yeah… this one hurt the most.

He really felt something when the two of them were watching the game, just chatting and laughing with Eddie’s arm around his shoulder… he felt _happy_. At peace. For the first time since he moved to L.A. he could imagine really belonging there…

So of course the guy kicked him out of his place the minute he came.

 _Put out and get out._ He smiled sadly… then trembled as he fought the sobs that threatened to rock his body.

He was done. L.A. was hell on earth and becoming a stripper would be his doom! He couldn’t go back to Pittsburgh, not after the reunion, but he would figure something out...

_Oh, God._

…he would probably have to call his old man and ask for a loan...

Stripping suddenly sounded like the better option after all.

“What do I owe you?”

The car finally stopped in front of his place and he tried to discreetly wipe off his tears with the back of his hand.

“Twenty five.” The woman replied, and Oliver eyes darted up—the meter was switched off. Twenty five dollars was less than half of what going one way had cost him. Looks like he’d be eating tomorrow after all.

“…thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, love. And whoever broke your heart—if he’s worth your tears he’ll come around, if not… well in that case, he did you a favor, didn’t he?” She winked, and shocked, Oliver half nodded and stepped out of the car.

He waited for her to drive away, his heart still beating fast and his eyes still wide with shock.

…but as soon as she got out of sight reality hit him again, in crushing force.

Eddie… if the other man had only returned his kiss, Oliver would have felt that there was—

…funny.

Why would he leave his laptop on? He always made a point of switching it off, but standing on his front porch and peering through the window there was no mistaking the screen’s blue light in his otherwise dark apartment.

He must have been so preoccupied by what he thought was a date/audition that he forgot to shut it down.

Fumbling in the dark, he missed the keyhole and dropped his keys to the ground.

But of course.

What a shitty day.

He switched on the lights, but nothing happened. He hit the switch a couple more times before hanging his head in defeat, then kicking the door in frustration.  

“Stupid piece of shit!” he started fumbling blindly for the key, his cheap IKEA door mat unpleasantly dirty and spiky to the touch.

His fingers finally curled around his Yankees keyring and his thoughts drifted to Eddie once more. Would he ever have such mind blowing sex again? Now that he knew how good it could feel, all he wanted was to bottom once more… but other guys he’d been with were too rough and forceful. It always hurt in the past. He wanted it to be with _him_.

 _Oh, God, Eddie…_ it hurt even more now that the other man was far away. Did he make a mistake, leaving like that? It was him who had offered to leave, come to think of it. How was Eddie supposed to know that he wanted to stay? But after throwing a fit like a teenaged drama queen who’d want him back? He certainly wouldn’t…

…then again, the man wouldn’t return his kiss a mere minute after fucking him, which was a whole new level of douchery… How could he possibly want Eddie so bad after the way he behaved?

Still, he would have done _anything_ to be held by the other man right then, and be rid of that soul crushing heartache…

_You’re pathetic Lawless, get on with your life!_

He entered his apartment and switched on the lights… Nothing again! He stuck his head out the door… the rest of the neighborhood houses were well lit… not that it mattered, he had no intention of tampering with the fuse box, and with his cellphone cut off he couldn’t call Water and Power until morning.

He sighed and closed the door behind him. It cut off what little light was coming from the street and momentarily he considered leaving it open, but decided it’d be safer to close and lock it.

If he recalled correctly, he still had some candles and matches under the kitchen sink… he could use his laptop as a flashilight and find them.

He made his way to the living room and bent down to unplug it…

Then his mouth ran completely dry.

“Hey Ann! Thanks darling, it’s always good to hear your voice, too. Oh, now you’re just trying to make me blush. Ah-ah… well, yeah… ah-ah…” Eddie rolled his eyes then gritted his teeth; he wasn’t in the mood for chit chat. “Well, you’re just too good to me! But say, darling, could you do me a huge favor? Right,” he forced a laugh, “You’re the best! Yeah… I know you are!” he was fighting the urge to tell her to shut up and listen, “Yeah… yeah. Anyway, I was hoping you could help me with a phone number? It’s that guy, Turner? Yeah, the audition you asked us to join yesterday. Sorry, I missed that? Oh, if I’m going to fuck him?” It hurt, but he repressed the pain and tried sounding normal, “Yeah, you’re right, he sure looks like, um…a tight ass…” and the tears finally came. He felt like the world’s biggest jerk. He had to bite his lower lip to compose himself long enough to say, “Yeah, I know you’re not allowed to give away strippers’ numbers, darling… I was just thinking that considering how Mr. Turner didn’t start working for you just yet, technically you wouldn’t be giving me an employer’s number and… oh? And why wouldn’t he be working for you in the future either? Because the number he gave you is inactive. I see. I see.”

And he opened his palm and let Oliver’s necklace fall to the floor.

His laptop wasn’t plugged in.

Oliver never unplugged the damn thing—his apartment was small enough for him to reach every nook and corner with the damn cable attached.

And if he didn’t… then who did?

Then something even more horrifying accord to him and his heart speeded up until it was drumming in his ears—

…the power was out.

The power was out but his unplugged laptop had juice…

 _…so it was switched on recently,_ came the unbidden conclusion he dared not make.

As quiet as he possibly could, he pulled the apartment keys out of the pocket of his jeans… he locked the door behind him when he came in, but now he was going to have to make a run for it… he steadied his hold on the key, his palms drenched with sweat, his heart thundering in his chest, and got ready to turn and run—when he caught a movement on the screen and a silent scream clamped his throat.  

In an instant of panicky horror he made out the reflection of a man standing behind him, between the door and himself—

“Fifty-four unread messages.” A familiar voice said and Oliver closed his eyes and threw his head back, nearly crying in relief. Dan. That idiot.

“I sent you fifty-eight messages and you only read _four_.” Dan went on in the complete darkness behind Oliver’s closed eyelids. He was trembling all over and waited for his nerves to settle long enough for him to shout at the man to get the hell out. He took a deep, shaky breath and exhaled.

“Bet you thought it was real funny didn’t you? Bet you got off on humiliating me this way!” Dan said and Oliver’s eyes flew open. This wasn’t Dan’s usual obsessive crap.

“Did you?! Did you fucking jerk off thinking of me—up all night, refreshing and hoping and crying myself to sleep?!”

 _Run-run-run-_ Oliver begged his traitorous body—but like in bad dream he was frozen solid. He couldn’t even scream.

He saw a swift movement flickering across the screen and half turned—that was when the vase hit him. He heard a wail of terror (his? He wasn’t sure) and shuttering glass, then a splitting headache thud against his temples and his face made contact with the floor.

_Thud-thud. Thud-thud._ The pulsing headache demanded attention, but Oliver didn’t want to wake up. He just wished that he was covered, the floor felt cold against his…

_…naked body??_

Then it all came back to him in frightening speed and he almost gasped with terror—but his instincts told him to play dead.

“…Oliver?” Dan intoned and Oliver’s numb mind registered that his hands and feet were tied with ropes. He struggled to breathe through his nose and realized that he’d also been gagged.

“Wakey, wakey…”

Dan rested his palm on Oliver’s ass and the actor held still with a heroic effort, but then Dan caught his flesh between finger and thumb, and by the time understanding dawned he was pinching him so fiercely that unprepared Oliver moaned against the gag.  

“So…” Dan moved in until his face was mere inches from Oliver’s, his laptop the only light source in the otherwise dark room “You want to tell me who it was?”

And Oliver just stared at him in disbelief. It was just a bad dream… it ought to be!     

“…No?” and Dan ran two fingers across his cheek, covering him in slippery, strawberry scented gel. “There’s more where that came from,” his hand disappeared only to force Oliver’s buttocks apart and trace the lubricated path leading to his anus.

 _“Mmmmmm!!! Mmmmmmmmmmm!!!”_ Oliver trashed but it didn’t stop Dan from touching him _there_.   

To his relief the hand was gone without penetrating him, but before he knew it he got slapped so hard across the face it made his ears ring.

“You’re trying to make me jealous?! Isn’t it bad enough you’re trying to make me your enemy?!”

“Hey… shit man, don’t cry… come here,” Dan moved to sit on the floor until Oliver’s head was in his lap and terrified, Oliver didn’t resist.

“Shh… shhh… Just listen, just… just hear me out, okay? I know you’re just as crazy about me as I am about you, and I know you want me just as much as I want you, you said so yourself—that day on my porch? You said I should keep your shirt. You said I wasn’t just a blip on your radar. And if you don’t want me… well, that’s your loss man. I’ll be out of here and you will never hear from me ever again. But I need to know that we tried, you know?”

And helpless and scared, Oliver nodded, hoping the madman would give him some reprieve. Dan was stroking his head throughout, and now he was caressing his offended cheek, bringing Oliver to the verge of tears once more.

“Now I know you said you don’t bottom, but clearly you do, trying to fucking mess with my head… I think we both know what’s going on?” Oliver didn’t move. He wasn’t even breathing. “You’re scared, man! You said I put you on a pedestal and how terrifying that is, and how I make you feel like you have to play the part so you don’t disappoint me… So what do you do? You shut yourself from me. You won’t bottom because you don’t want to get attached, I get it. I get it—and I get _you_ Oliver Lawless. You see what I mean? You see where I’m going with this?”

“Mmmmm!” tears were slipping from Oliver’s closed eyes. This wasn’t real! It couldn’t be real!

“All I want is a chance. A _real_ chance. You know how I said _let’s start over_ in reunion? Tried to introduce myself again? Well, that was bullshit man!” Dan laughed, “We have a history. That’s okay. We can still make it work. You’re with me on this?”

And Oliver nodded.

“Yeah?” Dan face lit up, “What a relief, let me tell you—I don’t want to be your enemy! I…I love you, Oliver. I’m not scared. I was, but not anymore. I want to be free… I want _us_ to be free. So here’s what I’m going to do—I’m going to untie you and we’re going to make love. I’m going to top, and if you can look me in the eye after we fuck and tell me that you still don’t want to give us a chance—then I’m out of here. You’ll be begging to see _D Money_ again and I still won’t come down to meet you. Deal?”

 _More like_ _D Bunny Boiler!_ Oliver thought, then, closing his eyes, nodded again and waited.    

Dan removed the gag, and he immediately started panting through bruised, dry lips, sweet gulps of air that were making him heady.

“Yeah, sorry about that man, I was worried you might panic.” Dan started undoing the ropes binding his legs… then he began undoing the ropes binding his hands…

…and Oliver remained completely limp, not giving away his every intention of jumping through the glass window as soon as he was free…

_…And GO_

He jumped to his feet and started running, but he underestimated the state of his head; dots began dancing across his field of vision before the entire room swayed to the right and Oliver crashed against the living room table.

Dan was all over him before he knew it.

The apartment was completely dark.

Eddie knocked on the door and waited…

Nothing. Not that he expected much when he took Oliver’s address from Ann.

He knocked again, louder. Loud enough to wake Oliver up, although considering how upset he was when he left, he doubted the actor was sleeping… He must have gone out.

Turning his back on the door Eddie unlocked his iPhone and was about to hail a cab… then decided that the open air could do him good and sat down on the stairs, instead. He could afford to wait for a bit in case Oliver turned up. He wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway, his conscious would keep him up.

Ashamed, he hung his head and waited.

_“Who is it?!”_ Dan whispered and shook him forcefully _“Is that the guy you’re screwing?! Huh? You brought him to your place, fucked him in this bed?!”_

Oliver couldn’t reply, the gag was tighter now, the ropes binding his wrists and ankles were fastened until he bled. Dan dragged him to the bed and watched the window with big, wild eyes. He looked completely unhinged.

Hell, he obviously was.

Oliver suspected that the guy had some sort of personality disorder when he learned that he faked a business trip and lied to his boss for no logical reason, and became certain of it when he saw the way he treated his teenage son, but by then it was too late—he’d already accepted Dan’s invitation to sleep over. He went out of his way to avoid Dan for the rest of his visit, which only seemed to send him spiraling until he completely lost it at the reunion. And still Oliver didn’t imagine he was such a complete and utter psychopath…   

Now, however…

“He fucked you in this bed?!” Dan was leaning against his chest, crushing him, he couldn’t breathe—

“Tell me Oliver, old buddy, old friend?! Did you fuck him too? Are you lovebirds versatile like that? How far did you take things just in order to hurt me?!”

He was choking—his vision was getting blurry—

If it wasn’t for the soft mattress allowing some give he would have suffocated.

Sighing heavily, Eddie rose to his feet and pulled out his iPhone.

_Oh, for crying out loud._

His battery was down to 3%, hardly enough for him to summon a ride home… Couldn’t this stinking day give him a break?

Crossing his fingers, he unlocked it and opened UberBlack, then hailed a cab and waited.

_Come on, come on, come on…_

It was half past midnight on a Tuesday and the app took longer than usual for someone to accept his call.

He was down to 2% but a driver finally confirmed.

Five minutes, fine.

Guess he’d just have to try Oliver again tomorrow.

He must have lost consciousness again, because he was floating in a sea of darkness and pain… but something was pulling him out, his brain insisting he’d wake…

He came to, but kept his eyes tightly shut…

There was a constant tapping… knuckles hitting his face…

_Oh God._

“It’s only fair, isn’t it?” Dan asked, somehow gathering that he was awake, “You went out of your way to humiliate me and got off of it like the dick that you are—so now I get to return the favor!”

Oliver didn’t open his eyes, he didn’t need to. It was easy to gather that the unhinged man got naked, and was now straddling his chest and jerking off, the head of his cock pressed hard against Oliver’s cheek and his fist bumping against his face repeatedly and hard enough to bruise.

“Open your eyes.” Dan warned, and scared, Oliver complied, his eyes soon adjusting to the dark, confirming that he was right; the man was about to come on his face.

He couldn’t even moan in shock and disgust—the improvised gag was tucked so forcefully up his mouth that he could just barely breathe and dark dots began swimming across his field of vision once more.

“Oh no you don’t!” Dan got off his chest and rose to his knees, and Oliver gasped and coughed as air suddenly filled his lungs.

Ignoring him, Dan lean forward until his cock was pressed against Oliver’s face once more and continued masturbating, faster and faster;

 _“—Ahh!”_ To his complete horror, Oliver heard Dan moan and squeezed his eyes shut seconds before warm, sticky fluid began spurting out in jets.

It covered his eyes and his nose, some of it got as far as his hair, and Oliver was washed by a wave of a fainting, nauseated revulsion. He had to fight a stubborn gag reflex—if he was going to be sick he’d choke on his own vomit—  

 _—Think of Eddie!_ The part of him that desperately wanted to survive urgently guided. He tried imagining that it was Eddie’s release… Eddie’s cum on his face… that they were long time lovers, and he’d agreed to do that because it turned his man on… there was nothing humiliating about pleasuring his man this way… Eddie would never humiliate or hurt him…

It helped. The dangerous heaves subsided.

At the same time Dan finally got off of him, the bed dipping as he moved to seat on the edge.

A long, unnerving silence followed.

“You know what you are? You know what you’re like?” Dan finally broke the tense silence, “You’re like a fucking bite into a great looking peach, that tastes so amazingly sweet because it’s rotten to the core.” he laughed humorlessly, bitterly. “Only problem is, by the time you realize what happened—you already swallowed it down… But you know that. You said so yourself—that you’re a broke as fuck piece of nothing that peaked in the 11th grade. I should have listened to you… I should have…”

The silence that followed scared Oliver to death, and Dan’s next words confirmed it was justly so.

“I’m a father… I’m a father of two—there’s a baby in the picture… I have a wife who needs me by her side… I have a clueless, helpless ancient boss whose entire company depends on me… I can’t throw that away… I can’t let all of these people down because of a little piece of shit such as yourself.”

And it was clear as day that the man was going to kill him.

“You got nothing… you got no one. If anything, I’ll be saving your next victim all of the heartache…” Dan said thoughtfully while Oliver’s heart pounded as if it was attempting to leap through his chest.

_The nightstand!_

There was a stupid glass turtle some surf chick brought him from Hawaii on top of his nightstand and while he couldn’t imagine what good it would do—it was as close as he could get to actually screaming for help!

His eyes were covered in jizz, he couldn’t possibly open them, but he calculated where the night stand ought to be, aimed, prayed and pushed with all his might, head butting the wooden surface.

The bed dipped as Dan turned and for the longest second of his life the stinking turtle wobbled endlessly—before Oliver heard glass shattering loudly.

Dan jumped on him, fingers wrapping around his neck, and hysterical Oliver tried rolling off the bed, but the man got on top of him before he could move.

The cab was running late and his battery had gone flat.

Frustrated, Eddie paced the small yard back and forth, trying to decide how much longer he intended to wait before trying his luck at a more central location.

That was when he heard glass shattering and froze... It must have came from the neighbors, Oliver’s place was empty. He strained his ears, but there was nothing else.

 _Enough is enough!_ He turned his back on the house and started making his way towards the nearest gas station, its yellow shell glowing from the distance like a beacon.

…then he stopped.

There was no denying that his heart rate had gone up—he didn’t really think the sound came from the neighbors… what if someone was breaking into Oliver’s place?

 _Just a quick look,_ he decided and made his way back.

He climbed the stairs and tried peeking through the window… he couldn’t see or hear a damn thing.

 _Happy?_ He asked himself, eager to get the hell away. Oliver’s neighborhood had been a notorious one and normally he’d just call the police.

 _Almost_ , his mind answered, noticing the alley between houses that was leading to the backyard.

He tiptoed between the garbage cans until he was standing in the neglected yard with its bushy overgrown greenery. It was impossible to miss the trail of crushed grass that was leading to Oliver’s back door… The door that was practically left wide open…

Whoever it was, he knew that no one paid any attention to the backyard.

Eddie kneeled in the grass and skidded sweat from his forehead with the heel of his hand. He couldn’t recall being this scared in his entire life, but if the burglar knew exactly how to get in unnoticed… then could he be looking at something more dangerous than mere burglary?  

 _Oh, man. You’ve been working in the movie industry for far too long. Go home. Get hold of the guy in the morning._

He got up and started walking… towards the house.

 _One quick look._ He promised himself.

He must have been out of his mind.

He was about to cross the threshold when wood softly creaked beneath his feet, the sound mixing with that of his beating heart, and he nearly took a step backwards… but then he drew a long, shuddering breath, and entered the house.  

Oliver’s apartment was completely dark and ever so tiny; the window he just tried peeking through was surprisingly close... His eyes were beginning to adjust to the dim light and—

_Oh God._

Looked like Oliver didn’t waste any time.

Two men were in bed with their backs on him, their naked bodies reflecting what little light came from the window. They were moving and Eddie was about to turn his back on them and leave, surprisingly hurt and disappointed, when something caught his attention, making him double take in panic.

There were dark stains on the white linen.

He strained his eyes in the dark… that was when he noticed that one of them (Oliver?) was bound with ropes and his ankles were covered in blood…

The man was arching his back, struggling against the guy who was on top of him, and hysterical, Eddie searched the room with his eyes—there was nothing he could use in the whole god damned place and— _the fire extinguisher outside!_

He quickly and quietly scampered out and made his way in the tall grass towards the fire extinguisher which stood underneath the fuse box, when suddenly headlights lit the front of the house…

The taxi he called!

He ran to the front,

“Hey man, are you Ed—”

“Quiet! Call 911!”

“Wha—”

“Yes I’m Eddie, call 911 _now_ —tell them that there’s an armed and dangerous man inside! NOW!”

Only when real fear twisted the driver’s face and he reached for his phone, Eddie ran back into the yard, grabbed the fire extinguisher with sweaty, shaky hands and went in.   

He was dying! Dan was killing him!

He just barely hung onto consciousness, every inch of his body hurting like hell, when the room was momentarily lit with a light source so bright that even he could notice it in his otherwise blind state.

 _“_ _Who's there?”_ Dan let go long enough for Oliver to draw a deep, long breath through his nose that burnt down his windpipe and tasted of blood.

 _“A car just pulled in, you’re waiting for someone?!”_ Dan shook him forcefully and Oliver shook his head ‘no’.

“Well, fuck me. Better get this over with, and if someone arrives…” Dan said then laughed _, “I gave him a safe word, he didn’t use it… he said harder, harder, then he just… he stopped moving and… and…”_ he faked a cry and Oliver’s skin crawled. He was going to die and take all of this crap with him to his grave while this lunatic was going to go back home to his lovely, unsuspecting wife and kids! Jesus!

Oh, Jesus, oh God! Dan’s hands were back on his neck, there was an aggravating pressure—

—then an ear deafening _–BANG—_

“…better get this over with, and if someone arrives… _I gave him a safe word, he didn’t use it… he said harder, harder, then he just… he stopped moving and… and…”_

Hidden in the shadows, Eddie could not believe his ears. This couldn’t be real, this was the kind of stuff nightmares were made of!

But then everything in the captive’s body language indicated that he was being strangled and Eddie was swinging the metallic tank before he knew it, his heart beating so loudly in his ears it was damping everything else.  

He was aiming at the capture’s head, but shaky as he was he hit his shoulder and neck instead.

It still had the desired effect, the man flew off the bed and landed on the floor.

He looked down at the victim, recognizing Oliver’s tattoos in a heartbeat,

“Oliver!”

That was when the other man jumped him, tackling him with so much force it knocked the air out of his lungs.

Shocked, Eddie found himself on the floor beneath the man who was now going for his face!

Eddie averted his head and the man scratched his cheek, but realizing he was aiming at his eyes, a surge of adrenaline shot through his veins and he threw the man off with so much force it surprised even him.

The man got up and ran for what Eddie figured, a second too late, was the kitchen.

He pulled out a massive meat cleaver from one of the drawers—he obviously been here before.

“That’s okay, it could still work,” The man told no one in particular, “they fucked, things got out of hand and the guy killed his famous, hot boyfriend in the throes of passion then committed suicide. I just need to get rid of the jizz…”

 _Jizz?_ Eddie’s eyes widened.

Then a decision hardened the madman’s gaze and he started running towards him, the knife held up high—

—Eddie grabbed the nearest chair and swung it up to hid behind it, shocked to see the knife piecing its surface.

_Holly shit!!!_

There was a tug as the man tried freeing the knife, and Eddie twisted the chair so quickly and suddenly that the man yelped in pain as his shoulder absorbed the sharp turn.

 _“ARGH!”_ he yelled and leaped forward, pushing the chair against Eddie who just barely managed to dodge the knife’s blade by stepping backwards—the sharp tip grazing his shirt.

His attacker kept on pushing and shoving the chair, backing Eddie up against the wall—one more step and there would be no retreat!

_“LAPD everyone freeze!!!”_

At the sound of cocking guns the madman turned and raised his hands in the air, as did Eddie, so relieved that he could cry.

“Thank God you’re here! We were having sex when this lunatic attacked me! He hit me over the head with a blunt object and—”

 _“Shut the hell up!”_ the policeman yelled, and Eddie could just hug him, Oliver’s attacker’s voice was making him sick.

“Mr. Alden?! Is that you?!” One of them asked, his voice familiar, but with their flashlights so bright Eddie couldn’t make out their faces.

“Yes! I asked my driver to call you—this man tried to kill me!”

“We saw that.”

“It was an act of self-defense! My name is Dan, Dan Landsman, and if you could just get in touch with my—”

“Shut up! On the ground! Hands on your head! Now!”

And Eddie horridly made his way to the bed, not missing the doubtful armed men following him with their weapons and gazes, but he ignored them.

“…Oliver?”

The young man turned his head towards him and Eddie’s eyes filled with tears of rage.

“Come here,” he helped him into a sitting position and shrugged off his jacket so that he could wrap it around the naked actor’s shoulders.

For a brief second Eddie was torn, but he decided he’d first clean the boy up, and only then ungag him; removing the madman’s cum and bringing this humiliation to an end felt impossibly urgent. He pulled at his sleeve until it cover the heel of his hand and carefully wiped the boy’s eyes and nose.

“Sir,” one of the policeman tried warning, but froze at the look Eddie gave him.

“Fine. Just know that you turned your shirt into evidence.”

“Whatever.” Eddie simply said as he continued to wipe off sticky cum from Oliver’s nose and forehead.  

“…there.” He softly said as he reached behind Oliver’s head to undo the gag.

The actor carefully blinked his baby blues, and when his eyes focused on Eddie he broke down in tears.

For a moment Eddie was worried that his presence had brought on the tears, but as soon as he was free to do so Oliver had crawled into his arms and wept until he was out of breath.

Wrapped up in the blanket they gave him, Oliver was leaning against the ambulance doors, refusing to climb in just yet. His eyes were glued to Eddie who was chatting to two policemen. They offered him something and he took it, then shrugged off his shirt and wore the dark t-shirt he was just given, instead. They took his ruined bottomed shirt and tucked it into a plastic bag.

Watching him strip, Oliver was reminded of how good the man looked in the buff, and how desperately he wanted to hug him back then, feel his broad, muscular bare chest and abs against his own. It was part of the reason he wanted to face him during sex… but that never happened and soon after he left.

Eddie walk towards him, and Oliver couldn’t help but appreciate how gorgeous the man looked in the tight, blue LAPD tshirt. Even the scratch Dan left on his cheek looked kinda sexy, like the battle scars gracing action movie heroes in the final scene.  

…at least his sex drive wasn’t completely shot after tonight, he smiled bitterly.

That was when they pulled Dan out of his house and dragged him into a police car. Eddie hastened his steps to protectively shield Oliver with his broad body from the madman’s gaze.

“This is bullshit Oliver! This is bullshit and you know it! I will see you in court! See how you like being sued for defamation!”

Tears blurred Oliver’s vision. Eddie gently cupped his cheek and Oliver blinked, letting the tears spill. That was when the other man bent down, tentatively, giving Oliver all the time in the world to back away, and pressed his thin, soft lips to Oliver’s dry, bruised once.

The kiss wasn’t sexual, it was gentle and reassuring, and it warmed Oliver’s heart in a way he didn’t expect.

“…hey.” Eddie said, following his gaze to the officers who were blocking his front porch with bright, yellow crime scene tape. “You can stay with me for a while… until everything settles.”

Oliver nodded, grateful and relieved, but a nagging voice in his head insisted… what did it all mean?

Were they dating or something? Or was the guy still guilt ridden in spite of having just saved his life, and was trying to make amends?

His head throbbed and he was still in shock, but he desperately needed to know… having someone like Eddie to lean on changed everything.

Then the ambulance driver came and he needn’t asked.

“Ready?”

Oliver nodded.

“I’ll be joining you, if that’s okay.” Eddie told her.  

“Well that depends, are you two related?”

“Yeah, I’m his partner.” The man simply said, and satisfied with the answer she nodded and opened the vehicle’s back door for them.

Oliver looked up and the sincere hazel eyes met his gaze without flinching.

 _“…I got you.”_ Eddie whispered and gave him an encouraging little nod, before helping him climb in.

 

The End

 

 

 


End file.
